


I'll Be Home For Christmas

by Tournesol



Category: Band of Brothers, The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternative Universe - FBI, Christmas, Domestic Fluff, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Undercover as Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 12:59:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5497895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tournesol/pseuds/Tournesol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Special Agents Johnny Martin and Bull Randleman are sent undercover as a married couple to investigate in a suburban gated community.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be Home For Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SillyLioness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SillyLioness/gifts).



> This is loosely based on the X Files episode Arcadia (6x15) aka the Mulder x Scully fake married trope episode!
> 
> I hope you're okay with it being a modern AU, I tried to add Corrigan in the story as well, with a little bit of implied blink and you'll miss it Corrigan/Stone, I hope you like it, happy holidays! 
> 
> Based on the fictional characters from the show, no disrespect meant to the real guys.

You know it’s fucked when it’s not even 10 am on a monday and AD Speirs has already called you and your partner in his office. Or so John Martin thinks as he is looking at the time on his cell phone, knee jiggling with nerves and exasperation. 

“I’m tellin’ you Bull, they’re gonna reassign us. Those assholes higher up have been promotin’ a batch of fresh faced douches from Quantico, no field experience, no nothing, and they’re gonna dump them on us to babysit,” he says, punctuating his tirade by pointing his finger to nothing in particular, before crossing his arms defensively around himself.   
If eyes could shoot lasers, that’s what Martin’s would be doing right now.   
“We’re gonna have to bust our asses to work on the cases and they’re gonna get all the credit if it goes well and put the blame on us if it doesn’t. I can feel it.” 

Martin is radiating anger in waves, and beside him Bull is calm and stoic, a soothing presence balancing Martin’s temper. 

“They’re not gonna reassign nobody,” Bull says matter of fact, not feeding Martin’s paranoia but not dismissing it either. 

“And how do you know?” asks Martin?

“Because I’m the only one who can handle you and they know it,” replies Bull, smiling, the warmth in his smile breaking Martin’s cold facade and eliciting a smile from him in return. 

“Special Agent Randleman, Special Agent Martin,” calls Assistant Director Speirs as he greets them in his office. 

“I have a case for you,” starts Ronald Speirs without preamble when they’re sitting.

With these words Martin can feel the knot in his stomach loosen and he suppresses the sigh of relief that goes with it. Of course they’re not being assigned different partners. They’ve been partners in the Bureau for eight years now and before that they served together until Winters recruited them when they went back to civilian life, smoothing what would have been an even more difficult transition. It would be foolish for the Bureau to have them reassigned now, not when case solvability is in direct correlation with how well agents are paired up to work as the most efficient team possible. And that’s what they are, complimenting each other nicely, balancing each other’s weaknesses in a way that has them having a higher success rate than average. Martin is good at reading evidence, making leaps no one else can think to make, but he has a short fuse when it comes to dealing with people. That’s where Bull comes into play. People often underestimate his intelligence due to his jock like appearance, but he graduated top of their psychology unit at Quantico. He possesses an uncanny ability to read people and is an unprecedented negotiator. He abhors the use of violence and works better by coaxing goodness out of people. His paternal ways have him be a well liked figure in the bureau. You simply don’t want to disappoint him because he sees the best in you and you aspire to be that person he sees. Bull is quiet and round edges where Martin is sharp and loud mouthed. But any of that wouldn’t guarantee for their team to work if not for one thing: trust. They keep each other in check and have saved each other’s lives more than once. Yes. Martin wouldn’t be doing this without the knowledge that Bull has his back. 

“What’s the case,” asks Martin, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“An undercover job in a closed gate community in San Diego,” says Speirs as he pushes a file towards them. “We’ve got two agents sent on a money laundering operation gone missing, Agents Stone and Agent Corrigan.”

Martin skims the file quickly, holding it between him and Bull so the both of them can read it.   
“Why us?, looks like a DEA case to me,” says Martin with a frown. 

“The DEA is already working on it but we need another angle in case theirs doesn’t pan out. We need agents close to the home of our prime suspects, Thomas and Susan Johnson. The DEA is working on a warrant for the drugs right now, we need to do surveillance work to get an eye on them and see if we can get a warrant to search the house. We’ll be working both angles independently to make sure to make an arrest.”

“Still doesn’t say why you’re sending us for the job,” asks Bull.

“We haven’t been able to get any leads because the people are refusing to cooperate, so you’ll go there undercover as a married couple,” says Speirs. “Don’t look at me like that,” he adds, when he’s met with incredulity. “The Bureau has already secured a house there for you to move into. You know how people are, they’d kill each other for gossip. They’ll be curious about you. It’ll give you an opportunity to check their houses for evidence.” 

Martin sputters, “Okay, but why are you sending us.”

“Because all my other agents are working other cases, and besides, we need agents able to sell the act. Come on, everyone jokes about the two of you acting like an old married couple, I don’t see anyone else I could send for the job.”

“Fuck,” thinks Martin. “When do we start?” he asks out loud.

+++

It takes some time to iron out the details, from gathering all the intel on the case to getting their covers straight, (or not so much in this case), but they soon find themselves in a U-HAUL truck as Denver and John Fletcher, on their way to Albourne Community in San Diego California. 

When they were researching the case Martin had immersed himself in the preparation and hadn’t thought about what pretending to be married to Bull would entail. But now that they have nothing to do but drive across the country for hours on hand in the presence of the other, it’s slowly starting to catch up on him. AD Speirs wasn’t kidding when he said they’ve long been referred to as the old married couple in the department. Bull has been a fixture in Martin’s life. If you’re looking for Martin, chances are that if you find Bull you’ll find him and vice versa. They’re more than colleagues, more than work friends. They’re best friends, each others’ listed emergency contacts. And Martin doesn’t know when Bull became something else to him. He’s still his best friend, that hasn’t changed, but what he can’t account for is the way something settles in his chest every time Bull looks at him and smiles at him. The way anger and bitterness fade to the background and the smile he can’t put off his face whenever Bull is near. The level of familiarity and of comfort between them is unprecedented for Martin. They do have a large circle of friends and are sociable, but with Bull it’s something else: they have each other’s keys and don’t bother knocking when they go at one another’s anymore. And Martin’s happy to leave it at that because being best friends is enough, as long as Bull is in his life. 

But now he has to go and pretend to be his best friend’s husband, whom he has feelings for, and he doesn’t know how his feelings will factor into that. He can’t risk the case, and most of all, he can’t risk his friendship.   
He mulls over this in his head while Bull drives, toying with his prop wedding ring. It looks weathered for authenticity, going as far as having ‘Denver & John - 11.09.14’ inscribed on the inside. Silences are never strained between the two of them, as they don’t bother filling in when there’s no need to. But Bull has always been perceptive. 

He asks “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, just new case jitters,” replies Martin. 

Bull looks like he’s not buying it but bless him, he doesn’t ask, and Martin could kiss him. And that’s basically why Martin is so fucked.

+++

When they finally arrive it’s 5 pm, and making their way to their new home feels like entering the Twilight Zone. It’s one thing to see it in pictures but it’s another entirely to actually see it with your own eyes and walk through it and being handed a fucking handbook of rules and guidelines larger than a goddamn dictionary. It’s all row after row of pastel houses with perfectly trimmed lawns and white picket fences, everything neat and tidy, everything America wished it were. Everything it isn’t, or they wouldn’t have to be sent to unearth an entire crime operation.

Martin just want to faceplant into the nearest horizontal surface but they have to unpack and already act the part when the neighbors flock to greet the newcomers, to get a look at the fresh meat. Martin smiles politely while sighing internally at the choruses of “Our first gay couple!”, “you’re so brave!” He wonders if one can die from holding rolling one’s eye for too long. Thankfully he has Bull next to him as an anchor, putting an arm around his shoulders casually and Martin is thankful to have him. 

First impressions are important so Martin makes himself pay attention as people introduce themselves and offer to help them. He notices the fake smiles plastered on their faces in a way that makes his skin crawl. But on the plus side, it means that they’re done by 7 pm.   
Word must have been going around about their impending arrival because they’re being given actual welcome-to-the-neighborhood baskets and have already received invitations to get to know the neighbors.

When the neighbors are gone and Martin and Bull finally make their way inside, home, thinks Martin, Bull grabs Martin and hoists him over his shoulder as if he weighed nothing and carries him over the threshold despite Martin’s (useless) attempts to budge him. 

“What the fuck Bull?!” asks Martin with as much dignity as he can while being out down like a small child. 

“Just making my marital duty of carrying you over the threshold,” replies Bull with a shit eating grin on his face, putting his left hand up and wiggling his ring finger. “Honeybun,” he adds, laughing when Martin smacks him on the shoulder.

“Fuck you,” adds Martin, red sitting high on his cheeks in a way that has nothing to do with trying to get out of Bull’s hold and everything to do with Bull himself. 

“You wish,” Bull replies, as they make their way to the couch, still smiling.

The thing with undercover is that you’re never truly off the job. So as they set down on the couch, munching on food from their welcome basket and sipping warm beer, they’re already reviewing the case and exchanging notes on the people they met so far. It’s mostly about their principal targets, Thomas and Susan Johnson. They were at the front of the greeting committee, looking pristine and very upper middle class. It’s an impressive act, thinks Martin. Much like the one he’s currently putting on with Bull. That’s the trade when your life is centered on deceit. You learn to live the lie until you become it. Still, the fake hospitality and cheerfulness the Johnsons displayed proves useful because they’ve already been invited over, which will afford them an opportunity to inspect the house and make contact.

They go to bed early, tired by the move, making their way through cardboard boxes. They do resemble a married couple the way they move around each other in the bathroom to get ready for bed with familiarity and ease. They’re sharing the bed, for appearances’ sake and it’s nothing to fuss about, they’ve crashed at each other’s plenty of times after parties where they were too drunk to take the car. Bull starts snoring as soon as his head hits the pillow but for some reason Martin can’t sleep even though he feels tired. He sleeps on his side with his back to Bull, not daring to even look. Fuck, thinks Martin. This is gonna be long.

In the morning, Martin opens bleary eyes to the sunlight, turns his head to see Bull’s side of the bed empty. He makes his way to the kitchen, the smell of coffee and scrambled eggs and bacon guiding his feet like a siren. 

Bull is at the stove and when he sees Martin, he smiles and points to a steaming cup of coffee with his spatula. “Mornin’ sunshine,” he intones, the bastard. 

Fucking morning people, thinks Martin. It’s yet another aspect where they’re polar opposites. Still he is thankful for the coffee, doesn’t think too much about how domestic the scene is, even when Bull hands him a plate before setting at the breakfast nook. Even when they sit next to each other and eat in silence because Bull knows better than trying to talk to Martin before he’s ingested at least two cups of coffee. 

The day after that is pretty uneventful. They’d scheduled the move on a Friday so that it’d give them the weekend to settle in the house. They use the spare bedroom as a study with all the technical equipment they can get away with with their covers. It’s relatively easy to settle in and not have the house feel like a cold stake out joint. They might stay here for some time so might as well make themselves comfortable. It already feels homely and lived in and Martin credits it to Bull. It’s easy to lose track of yourself when you’re undercover, so intensely focused on building a case, shaping your whole life around it that you sometimes ends up compromising yourself and your values in the process. But having Bull with him Martin feels grounded. They’re here to keep each other in check. 

But if living with Bull makes things easier, funnily enough it also makes them more complicated for Martin because of his feelings. He’d briefly entertained the notion that living with Bull would act as exposure therapy, that he’d get used being around Bull, that his crush would abate when confronted to the reality of living with Bull everyday. It doesn’t. Instead, he gets to witness all those small moments, Bull reading with his reading glasses on, Bull talking in his sleep, Bull sleepy in the mornings. It’s agony because he falls harder for Bull with each passing day. 

All in all, the first few weeks are uneventful. It’s all about carving a place for them in the community where they’re trusted so as to not raise suspicion when they’re looking for intelligence. The neighbors are friendly if nosey as you would expect in this type of neighborhood where nothing much exciting happens. Other than that, they don’t talk much and Martin, whose forte has never been patience, is starting to get frustrated with the slow progress. Martin stays home, posing as a freelancer in IT working from the computer at home. He is gathering a file on each of the neighbors, trying to determine if some of them are involved in the operation, jotting down notes, comparing backgrounds, checking for connections but so far, nothing. 

Bull spends his days reporting with their temporary command post, his pretend psychology practise. He’s working with the team to gather information on Aldbourne Community, tracing the history of ownership and money transactions in the public records, collecting data about the place should they need to prepare a tactical operation to make the arrest. 

All in all they’re not living the romanticized lives television and cinema want you to believe FBI agents live. Martin is getting impatient and tends to snap more often than not and Bull takes it all with the stoicism of a tibetan monk. Although he sometimes breaks laughing at Martin’s antics. How can you not smile when you witness an angry Martin get angrier at not being able to reach the top cupboards in the kitchen?

Martin is relieved when Bull suggests they invite the neighbors to have a homecoming party. He’s not exactly what you’d call a people person but at this point he’d do anything to have the case move forward. Bull makes a mean barbecue so they settle in the backyard for drinks and steaks. Nothing noteworthy happens with the Johnsons, they’re still acting the part of the perfect neighbors. 

It’s a test of sorts for Martin and Bull, having to act as a couple. Nothing could have prepared Martin for Bull’s particular brand of casual affection when it comes to their act as a married couple. Without going full PDA Bull will put his arm around Martin’s shoulder or around his waist, kiss his cheek every once in a while and it’s so hard, it hurts to have Bull so close and yet so far, because it’s all pretend. Only Martin is not pretending with the way he looks back longingly at Bull. It’s so hard to distance himself from it all when everything around them is crafted to sell the lie, everything a taunt of what he wants and that he is having but not really because it’s fake. A taunt of what could be if only…

Martin makes his round through the guests, dying a little when someone tells him they make a cute couple and that it’s so obvious they’re in love, the way they look at each other. When giving a tour of the house, people exclaim over some of the pictures of the two of them together and Martin wants to die a little because those pictures are real. Pictures taken at parties here and there, snippets of their friendship documented at parties and friends’ gatherings. Even their “wedding” picture is not a manip. It was taken at Harry and Kitty Welsh’s wedding, where the both of them had been groomsmen. The picture had been taken after Winter had made a speech that had gotten half the room teary eyed. It looks genuine because it is. 

When asked about how the two of them met, Bull replies that they were in the same circle of friends and that they bonded over the hatred they had for the same person. He adds that they grew closer and closer until they became each other’s person, that it was an evidence they’d spend their lives together. Martin listens to the speech dumbfounded. All of this is true. Martin feels his chest constrict. It’s like hearing about an alternate reality where everything is the same except that he and Bull are involved. How can you distance yourself from the huge crush you have on your best friend when he makes it sound so plausible?

When asked about his job Bull replies that he is a psychologist. Someone makes a quip about Martin having it hard because of how difficult it must be to keep secrets from your spouse when they read people for a living, and Martin almost gets into a fit of hysterical laughter. Yeah, thinks Martin, except for the one that I’m in love with him.

When they finally go to bed, Martin’s exhausted and mentally drained. Same as every night he’s spent there, he doesn’t sleep well. He feels restless, cranky, full of self loathing for having these feelings that he wastes energy fighting to no avail.   
Beside him, Bull shifts. 

“You alright Johnny?” he asks sleepily. 

“Yeah. Go back to sleep.” 

Bull sighs. “Cut the bullshit. I’m not an idiot. When have we not told each other everything? You know you can talk to me about everything right? I’ll leave it alone for now if you want to but sooner or later we’re gonna talk about it alright?”

“Yeah.”

+++

The next morning when Martin wakes up Bull is already gone. Martin is tired of himself. He can’t go on being this tired and angry all the time. He misses Bull and wishes he could have some space simultaneously. But even with Bull not there physically there are reminders of his presence every step Martin takes. The bed still smells like him. He’s left something in the oven for Martin that smells delicious. 

After breakfast he makes his way to his study for his appointed check in visio call with Lena. Lena Riggi Basilone is their coordinator agent on the case, gathering intelligence and collecting all the data to build the case. She’s one of the best agents Martin’s ever worked with, and Martin laments the idiocies of bureaucracy that have her confined to a desk job where her skills are wasted, because he has no doubts that she’d make one hell of a field agent. She’s also one of his closest friends.

“Jesus Johnny, you look like shit,” she says as a greeting.

“And a good morning to you too, thanks,” he says deadpan. 

“I’m serious, Bull snores huh? I could have earplugs sent to you.”

“Yes but it’s not that.”

“Aw, Johnny,” she says, suddenly serious. “That bad huh?”

Martin looks wistfully at the screen. It figures she’d have guessed. 

“How long have you known?” he asks. 

“I’ve had my suspicions for some time now.” When Martin wipes his hand over his face, she adds “it’s not obvious, if that’s what you’re worried about. I just could tell there was something, you should see the way you look at him Johnny. Listen, when this is over, talk to him.”

Martin looks at her as if she just said the most outrageous thing in the world. “Oh for fuck’s sake can we stop and talk about the actual case, please?” he pleads. And Lena is a fucking gift to the world because she complies and gets right back into it without a pitying look in his direction.

“Alright, I looked into the Johnsons’ house bills like you asked and you were right, there is definitely something fishy going on there.” and fi-fuckin-ally a lead on this godforsaken case. “First of all it took me way too long to locate those bills, they’re all under different names to avoid suspicion. Also I checked the photograph you sent and they’re also using additional solar panels and use water from a private well to have their numbers stay under the radar, it’s all legal but I checked the electricity and water usage and it’s way too high for a house this size and a household of two people. My guess is that the house is bigger than it looks from the outside. There must be additional units under the house. Any chance you could set up surveillance equipment to check the inside of the house?”

“Nah, I took a quick look around the house during a neighborhood watch meeting but they have surveillance cameras everywhere,” says Martin, pondering. “Any chance you could hack into their surveillance footage?” asks Martin.

“Not from here I’m afraid. My guess is they have an intranet network for this to avoid stuff like that happening. You’d have to tap directly into the line and I’d rather not take that kind of risk and compromise the whole operation. But we’re onto something there, definitely.”

Martin sighs, it’s frustrating but it’s progress nonetheless. After they’re done talking about the case he talks some more to Lena and realises how much he’s missing his friends when just Lena’s easy conversation soothes the ache in his chest. He’s getting homesick, he realizes. He’s been so wrapped up in Bull to consider that the permanent ache in his chest might be something else entirely and he feels like an ass for acting like a grumpy elf. But they’re making progress and Martin can feel it in his bones. Criminals always end up making mistakes. It’s just a matter of time.

+++

Bull comes home later than usual that day and when he makes his way into the house he is laden with bags of various sizes and is sporting a smug smile of epic proportions.

“What the fuck is all this?” asks Martin, trying to take a peek inside one of the bags. They’re all christmas decorations. And when Martin takes a look behind Bull he sees the car parked outside with the giant pine tree attached to the roof of the car.

“I forgot it’s mid december already since we’re still in fucking tee shirts in this goddamn hell hole but you were looking grumpier than usual so I figured a little christmas cheer might do some good, hubby,” says Bull, smiling the special smile he does only for Martin.

“A little? It looks like you robbed the entire shop,” Martin replies, but he can’t help but smile, trying to slap Bull’s arm out of the way when he produces a santa hat out of one of the bags and tries to put it on Martin’s head. 

“Aw, come on now don’t be such a grinch,” Bull says, putting the bags down and chasing Martin through the house.

Martin feels lighter than he has in days. Bull noticed he was feeling down and homesick before Martin even did. If Bull is used to warm christmases, having grown up in Texas, Martin is not. He grew up in Ohio and has always associated christmas time with cold weather and snow. And Bull didn’t do things half measure. The bag he got when he came in were only the beginning. The car too is laden with christmas decorations and christmas lights over which Martin exclaims. 

They spend the late afternoon setting up the tree and decorating it, as well as putting christmas lights outside the house and various decorations on the front lawn. 

“Wow, where’d you get that one Bull,” asks Martin, eyeing a pink flamingo wearing a santa hat. “I think we must have violated a dozen rules from the Albourne Community guidelines but that one is definitely gonna get us a warning.”

“Yep,” replies Bull, smiling. 

Martin looks at the house with the lights and the kitsch reindeers and other snowmen and flamingoes and feels content. He’s missed his best friend. It’s one of the things that hurts the most about the whole situation, not being able to talk to Bull about how conflicted and torn he feels about the whole thing. They’ve been so isolated, being forbidden to make contact with their friends outside lest they break their covers and the impending holidays are a painful reminder of this, when they’d have spent the time celebrating in good company. But still Bull went out of his way to make them feel at home and that’s what Martin is right now and Martin can’t express his gratitude enough.

He checks his pocket and produces a cigar he wordlessly hands to Bull, who smiles and lights it in thanks. Martin doesn’t smoke but he’s been hanging out with Bull long enough to always have them on hand for him. 

“Thanks hubby,” jokes Bull, wrapping an arm around Martin’s shoulders.

“Shut up,” says Martin jokingly.

Sure enough the next day they receive a notification to take down the kitsch flamingos off their lawn in their mailbox.

+++

It gets easier for Martin after that. Work is slow, he’s still documenting the Johnsons’ moves but so far they have all the appearances of your regular suburban couple. Bull and Martin are working closely with Lena on a way to get a reading on the Johnsons’ security footage to get irrefutable evidence for the trial but they’ve discarded the idea for now because it would require placing a tracking device inside the house, which would defeat the purpose since they’d get caught on camera doing it. She’s given them the device just in case, but they doubt they’ll make use of it. The only reason an arrest hasn’t been made yet is because if they’re not absolutely sure there’s something to find in the house, the Johnsons won’t get charged. 

Martin hasn’t tired of living with Bull, they’ve settled into a kind of domestic bliss that surprises him. You hear stories of agents at each other’s throats after long stake outs but they’ve settled effortlessly into “married” life. Martin relishes the small moments where he gets to witness Bull unguarded: whistling a tune as he washes the dishes, cooking and putting Martin to work, eating in front of the tv, bickering about what to watch. He’s forgotten what it’s like not to live with Bull and he realizes with a pang that when the case is closed they’ll go their separate ways and he finds he doesn’t want it to end. He remembers what Lena said to him about talking to Bull. At the time the risks of endangering their friendship outweighed the possibility of a positive outcome, but now he’s not so sure anymore. After knowing what it’s like to live with Bull, Martin has more to lose keeping silent on his feelings from him. 

Christmas is a quiet affair. They’re clearly both heartsick at not being able to share this with their friends and family but at least they have each other and that counts for something. For the past few days Bull has gone out of his way to lift Martin’s spirits, smiling to him often, making the house as homely as possible. They have a simple dinner, eat it outside in the backyard because the weather permits it. They stay outside long past sunset, under the changing colors of the christmas lights. 

“Merry Christmas Johnny,” mumbles Bull around a cigar as he hands Martin a parcel wrapped in festive reindeer patterned paper. 

Martin opens it carefully, revealing a framed photograph. His heart jumps in his chest when he sees the subject of the picture. He looks back and forth from the picture to Bull, speechless for a moment. It’s a picture of the two of them dating back from their first days of training in the Marines, before their first tour. It’s a candid, taken without them realizing. It shows them looking at one another and laughing, young and carefree. Martin can’t remember what it is they were laughing about but he remember the feeling like it was yesterday. 

“Where the fuck did you get this? I didn’t even know it existed,” exclaims Martin, voice slightly choked with emotion. It’s a sentimental gift. 

“Perco took it and sent it to me some time ago.” 

“It’s amazing, Christ, look how young we were,” says Martin, peering closer at the photograph. He’s clutching it in his hands, doesn’t want to let it go. “Alright, your turn,” says Martin. Instead of handing over a parcel, he produces a laptop, urging Bull to open it. He’s almost giddy, and a giddy Martin is not a sight graced upon many people.

When Bull opens the laptop he’s greeted by the voices of his nieces on the screen, waving and exclaiming at seeing their uncle. Now, it’s amazing to think that people actually find Bull intimidating. Those people clearly haven’t seen him hanging around his nieces because when he does, quiet stoic Bull turns into an honest to god teddy bear. 

It took an indecent amount of wrangling and Lena’s help to organize the call. They’re forbidden to contact their families while undercover so they’re technically breaking protocol, but Martin wouldn’t have done this if the line wasn’t 100% safe and untraceable. Martin knows how much Bull loves his nieces and how much he misses them so he couldn’t think of anything else Bull would want more for Christmas than the chance to see them, and that’s why he went out of his way to get it.  
The call ends all too soon with the girls waving at Bull and “Uncle Johnny” and Bull closes the laptop, placing it on the floor before grabbing Martin in a bearish hug that goes on and on. Martin closes his eyes, fixes the feeling of it in his memory, how warm Bull feels and how the particular scent of tobacco clings to him. 

When they break the hug, Bull looking at Martin with shiny eyes, a fond look that Martin sees more often. Bull is clasping his shoulders and for a second he leans in close. But then he shakes his head and leans back, remembering where they are, what they’re doing.

He thanks Martin and hugs him once more and this moment feels perfect, as if suspended in time. Martin looks at Bull and feels happiness bubbling around, eclipsing his doubts and reservation. He wants to blurt out just how much Bull means to him, the true essence of his feelings. Bull still has his hands on Martin’s shoulders and he’s going to do it, he’s going to say the words, riding on a sudden burst of courage he didn’t think he’d ever possess. Martin opens his mouth and the words die on his tongue, interrupted by an obnoxious ringtone. It feels like receiving a cold splash of water on the head, the fleeting moment over.

It’s Bull’s phone. He picks up and on the other side of the line Lena says, without preamble “We’ve got eyes on Corrigan. He logged in to check on the case and then we have him on surveillance cameras twenty miles from you.”

“Think he’s dirty?” asks Martin, focusing on nothing but the case now. 

“I don’t think so,” says Bull, “he wouldn’t have made such an obvious move. He knows we’re onto him now.”

“The main priority now is not to compromise your covers,” says Lena. “Go get Corrigan and question him. Stay clear of the Johnsons.”

+++

It’s quite easy to track Corrigan after that. He’s obviously desperate and desperate people make mistakes, do not think clearly. He looks run down and haggard, like he hasn’t been getting much sleep. It takes a lot of coaxing to get him to follow Martin and Bull to Bull’s fake practice, but they sit him down and he starts talking and it comes spilling out of him. He tells them everything, from the start of the case he was investigating with his partner Agent Stone. They’d underestimated the Johnsons, tipping their hand and making them realize how close the FBI was to uncovering their entire operation. He tells them how Stone was taken, but not before leaving a message for him to lay low. Stone had had no time to explain, but Corrigan had heeded the warning, evading official channels. Martin and Bull look at each other at that. It means the Johnsons must have someone on the inside feeding them info on the case. Corrigan carries on and tells them in a choked voice that he thought his partner had been killed for his silence, until he got the notification that someone had used his log ins to access information on the case.

“I know it’s Stone,” he says, frantic, “it can only be him,” he says with a hopeful smile, and something twist in Martin’s chest because he knows the feeling all too well. “It’s his way of sending a message to me. Letting me know he’s alive.” 

The rest of their story interlock; they caught Corrigan trying to rush to Stone. They can’t say they blame him for trying but going without back up and without certitude that he’s at the Johnsons’ is reckless and stupid and Bull and Martin don’t mince their words saying it to Corrigan, the former more diplomatically than the other. 

They update Lena on the situation who forwards the orders to them. They’re to stay put and wait for backup. And Martin should not have trusted Corrigan’s easy compliance at this slow moving plan. He blames Bull’s influence in seeing the best in people when he ends up getting tazered only to wake up alone and handcuffed to a chair. 

“Sorry,” Corrigan had said just before knocking him out. And he’d looked sincere, but really, fuck him. 

+++

The time it takes Lena to come get him feels interminable. Most of all because he has no idea what happened to Bull. 

“I took it something was wrong when you failed to report when I kept calling,” she says. And Bull knows that had it been another agent, they might not have been so quick to answer.

“Any word on Bull?” he asks.

“No,” she says, apologetic. “He’s gone missing. I’m sorry Johnny. I’m having his cell phone traced right now. I’m gonna make everything in my power to find him, I promise.”

And he believes her, he really does, but it doesn’t stop his chest from fucking hurting.

For hours, there’s nothing. His guts is telling him to check the Johnsons’ house, but they have agents there telling them that there is no activity.

It’s nearing 6 am when Lena tells him they’re getting a GPS signal on Bull’s phone. He doesn’t need to call the number to know Bull won’t answer because it’s clearly a diversion tactic from the people who have Bull. He’s not even happy to have been right when a team comes back with Bull’s phone, sans Bull. 

He hasn’t slept, what had started as one of the greatest night of his life turned to shit in the space of a few hours. He’s bitter, angry and hurt, disgusted by what he feels is the incompetence of the people he works with. And it’s made ten times worse because Bull would usually be the one to temper his cynicism. 

He can feel anger and despair rising like the tide, and is ready to break when Lena exclaims.

“Oh my God!,” she’s in front of her computer, her fingertips flying over the keyboard.   
“He did it! He fucking did it!”

She’s smiling so this must be a good news, Martin thinks. 

“He plugged my tracer into their surveillance system, the Johnsons!” she says, pointing to her screen.And there he is, on the screen.

Martin closes his eyes and hears his pulse beating deafeningly against his eardrums.

“We’re gonna get him,” says Lena. And what Lena says, she does. 

After that everything blurs except for the mission. He doesn’t remember the drive to the house, doesn’t remember the details. He does what needs to be done, driven and seeing with tunnel vision. 

They have a person keeping tabs on the monitors and last they checked, Bull was safe, as well as several other hostages, including Agent Stone and Agent Corrigan. They’re guarded by Thomas Johnson. Martin assume they usually have hired guards to secure hostages in and out, but that these are unexpected circumstances. 

They still don’t know where the hostages are exactly in the house. It has to be a well concealed basement, but there’s nothing much to do when you don’t know how to access it.   
They haven’t made their way inside the house that Martin hears gunshots and he freezes. But before he has time to worry, Bull makes his way outside, held up by Stone and Corrigan. He’s limping but other than that, he looks alright.

Martin runs up to him.

“Bull!” he shouts, smiling, his hands coming of their own accord to frame Bull’s face. “Are you alright?”

“I got shot in the ass, but other than that, I’m swell,” he’s smiling.

Martin stays with him as the paramedics take care of him, seeing with satisfaction the Johnsons in handcuffs being escorted to be processed. 

“Those fucking assholes were keeping people hostage to force them to work for them,” he says, disgusted. “Is Corrigan okay?” he asks. “If he is I’ll tan his hide. I ran after the little asshole and then they had me surrounded. It’s your turn to run after the kids next time, hubby,” says Bull, still finding the energy to have a smile for Martin in his state. 

“Yeah well, we have everything on tape now. Lena is filing it into evidence as we speak.” With kidnapping and endangering the lives of federal agents, there’s more than enough to put the Johnsons away.

They have Bull lying face down so his wound doesn’t pain him too much. He already refused anaesthesia from the paramedic, wanting to wait until he is at the hospital.   
Martin sits down on the floor of the ambulance, his face close to Bull’s in order for him not to have to crane his neck to look at him. 

Martin pats his pocket, produces a cigar before putting it between Bull’s lips. Before Martin can take his hand away Bull grabs it and squeezes firmly, looking at Martin with a look that says all the things they aren’t ready to say yet, but they know.

“I felt we were having a moment. Earlier,” says Bull. “If I’d known, I’d have kept my phone on silent.”

And fuck the awkward angle, fuck the paramedic who is pointedly turning his head away in a vain attempt at giving them privacy, but Martin has to take the cigar back, then Bull is grabbing him by his collar and guides him slowly for a chaste kiss, the gentleness they’re exhibiting surprising them both. 

Bull groans when his heart monitor beeps faster, the paramedic next to him failing to suppress a snort.

“Later,” asks Bull, a question, a promise.

“Later,” replies Martin. 

+++

Later turns out to be three days later when Bull is finally discharged. Martin has had to deal with enough paperwork for a lifetime, and Bull has had a never ending string of visitors.   
Martin has spent all his spare time sleeping in the uncomfortable chair next to Bull’s bed but he’s been thrown out and ordered to sleep in a real bed. With the tension easing he realizes it’s the first night he spends without Bull. He realizes with a pang that the time of playing house is over. He hasn’t even thought of taking off his fake wedding ring. He is exhausted but somehow cannot fall asleep.   
Despite the late hour, he dials Bull’s number. He picks up after the first ring. 

“Cannot sleep either?” says Bull as a greeting.

Martin sighs over the line. 

“Wanna come over?” 

And it’s as simple as that. Martin goes, and after that he never leaves.   
This time, when they’re in bed, Bull curls around him, bridging the distance. 

“I’m glad you’re alive,” says Martin as sleep takes him, breathing easily for the first time in weeks. 

“Me too Johnny, me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my beta [greetingsprogramms](http://archiveofourown.org/users/greetingsprogramms/pseuds/greetingsprogramms)  
> credit for the title goes to her too, all mistakes remaining are mine.  
> Come yell at me on [tumblr](http://hugatreeortwo.tumblr.com)


End file.
